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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051598">Pieces</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddeninyourblood/pseuds/hiddeninyourblood'>hiddeninyourblood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Boy Meets World, Girl Meets World</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AN 11k IDEA, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Just slow everything, Music, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sorry Not Sorry, Soulmates, Teenagers, Underage Drinking, accidental biphobia, also there's never gonna be a sequel to this, and they turned into one big idea, bisexual!reader insert, listen I had a bunch of little ideas, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, slow-burn, so don't even ask, so just go with it ok, teenage angst, there's a LOT of music in this one, twin flames</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:55:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddeninyourblood/pseuds/hiddeninyourblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"They’ll never understand that people like you and me… don’t get permanent things. Whether it’s our fault or not, it doesn’t really matter; affection that lasts isn’t something we understand. It doesn’t fucking exist to you and me.  So, we accept it the only way we know how: in pieces. They’ll never know what that feels like.”</i>
</p><p>
<br/>
</p><p>The one where you and Shawn Hunter are classmates, best friends, and soulmates.<br/></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://tellonym.me/hiddeninyourblood">Tellonym</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://Ko-fi.com/saveyourblood">Ko-Fi</a>
  <br/>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cory Matthews &amp; Shawn Hunter, Shawn Hunter &amp; Jonathan Turner, Shawn Hunter &amp; Topanga Lawrence-Matthews &amp; Cory Matthews, Shawn Hunter &amp; You, Shawn Hunter/Reader, Shawn Hunter/You, Shawn hunter/bisexual!reader, Topanga Lawrence-Matthews/Cory Matthews</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Boymeetsworld</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not gonna lie, I'm kind of embarrassed about this one lol.</p><p>I honestly just starting writing this to get the ideas out of my head, and well... we can all see how well that worked. I've been watching Boy Meets World for a little over a year now, so I had a bunch of little ideas watching (and re-watching). I started listening to 'The Front Bottoms' a few weeks ago, and something about their angst finally pushed me over the edge. </p><p>Like I said in the tags, there are quite a few songs in this fic, mostly from The Front Bottoms. ALL SONG LYRICS AND THE SONGS THEY ARE FROM WILL BE LISTED IN THE END NOTES; IN NO WAY DO I TAKE CREDIT FOR THEM. There are also hyperlinks to the actual song in the fic.</p><p>I'm crazy enough to be writing BMW fanfic in 2021, so I hope someone out there is crazy enough to be reading it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well, how sweet, a chance to wipe out the entire baboon family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keiner!” you called out, turning the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You got so tired of listening to the one and only Harley Keiner threaten people, especially the new kids. Having already spent a year at John Adams, you found a few ways to blend in, already knew who to listen to. It was your first day as a Sophomore, sure, but for boys like Cory Matthews, it was their first day, period. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell are you?” Harley said, turning around to face you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see, I’m kind of your worst nightmare,” you stated. “Guys like you have a sexist ethical code, so I know you won’t hit me. But, unfortunately for you, girls talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is that supposed to mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sister is TK, right?” you asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clenched his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“TK, bless her heart, isn’t very quiet, metaphorically and literally,” you said, crossing your arms. “She tells her friends things, her friends tell me things. Things that would ruin your reputation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” he muttered under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let the boy go,” you said. “In fact, leave all the freshmen alone. Find some other 24-year-old high school senior to pick on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley looked back at Cory and his older brother before turning back to face you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could take you </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>them,” he retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” you ceded, “but for your own sake, believe me, you don’t wanna try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley brushed past you. “This isn’t over, baboons!” he announced before walking away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah,” the two said simultaneously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t help but smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it, kids.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone tapped your shoulder. You pull out one of your earbuds, momentarily pausing your walkman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’re the girl that saved my best friend’s life. Thanks for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sat alone at lunch, and most of the time, people didn’t bother you; between your several piercings and brooding outfits, most people decided you weren’t worth talking to. You were perfectly fine with that, of course. You were always better at listening than talking. So good at listening, in fact, that you knew who was talking to you without having met him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, and the fact that you and his family live in the same trailer park.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be Shawn Hunter,” you stated simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood there with a lunch tray, looking down at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. “You know my name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shrugged. “People talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, I just wanted to say thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” you said, “and you’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said ‘thanks’ twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smiled briefly before putting your earbud back in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You felt a tap on your other shoulder. You took out your earbud again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one and only Cory Matthews stood on your other side, also with a lunch tray. Unlike Shawn, he was wearing a massive grin on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This seat taken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You snorted out a laugh before shaking your head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stopped listening to music at lunch. Instead, you listened to Shawn, Cory, and eventually Topanga talk. You engaged in the conversation every once in a while, but you just listened for the most part. You could tell that Shawn and Cory have been best friends for years. Similarly to you, Topanga was trying to discover how she fit into their tight-knit friendship; she just took the opposite approach. Instead of listening, she talked. To her credit, it seemed to be working out well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was bothering Shawn — you could just tell. He came to school wearing a yellow hoodie with the sleeves cut off and seemed to be avoiding Cory ever since homeroom. Not to mention that every time he opened or closed his locker, he did so with a slam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s it going at the Matthews’?” you inquired as you switched out your Biology book for your Algebra book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn’s dad skipped town again. You shouldn’t be surprised; it was clockwork at this point. Still, you hated seeing how it affected Shawn. He deserved a dad who stayed. The Matthews’ were nice enough to take him in, but it wasn’t the same thing. It never would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At this point, I’m just trying to make it in one piece,” Shawn said, shoving various items back into his locker as they fell out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, why don’t you spend the night at my place tonight?” You offered. “You probably don’t miss trailer park life, but it sounds like you need a break from the ‘burbs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Isn’t your brother out of town?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Evan’s on a work trip, won’t be back until Monday. Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re inviting me over to an empty house… with an empty bed… with no supervision?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You punched him in the shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Hunter! I’m offering you a place to crash. That’s it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn busted out laughing. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I’d get grounded if I even try to break ‘curfew’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grounded, huh?” you chuckled. “You’re becoming domesticated, Hunter.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>You spent your Friday night how you spend all your Friday nights: plucking away at a guitar. It used to be your mother’s, but something told you she wasn’t missing it. Usually, you played until your fingers were raw from holding down chords, but over time, you grew thick calluses on your left hand; it took some time for them to hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stopped playing when you heard a knock on the door. After looking through the window, you opened it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got room for a stray?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… you play guitar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t help but laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn was usually so cool, so composed. For some reason, the second he stepped into your trailer, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>home, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was like he became someone else entirely. He sat in the chair like he was afraid he might break it — back straight, feet flat on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want a beer? Evan keeps the fridge stocked,” you offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t notice one missing?” Shawn asked, but he was already out of his seat and walking towards the ‘kitchen’ (the half of the trailer that wasn’t a lounge area). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shrugged. “I drink them all the time; he’s never said anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn grabbed two bottles and set one of them on the coffee table between the two of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is what you do on Friday nights?” Shawn asked, cracking his open and taking a sip. “You play guitar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When Evan’s not here, I sing,” you said, “but otherwise, yeah, this is how I spend most of my Fridays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn cocked an eyebrow. You stopped plucking and looked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sing?” He asked with a smile, a hint of laughter beneath his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so hard to believe?” you asked with a similar smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just don’t strike me as the singing type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I also write songs, if that helps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that I can believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed, playing a few chords. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I only sort of write songs — I don’t write the lyrics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn frowned. “Who does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You bit your lip. Eventually, you set the guitar down and reached over, grabbing the open box on the couch cushion next to you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom did,” you said, paging through her endless papers of words. “When she felt something, didn’t understand something, or just wanted to get something out… she wrote it down. Some of it makes sense, some of it doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You offered Shawn a paper to read.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em><span>I feel like I have boulders on my shoulders; my collarbones are starting to crack. </span>There is very little left of me, and I don’t think it’s ever coming back</em>
  <span><em>,</em>” Shawn recited. “Wow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, some of it’s pretty depressing,” you admitted. “Some of it isn’t, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like…” you said, reaching for your guitar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You down strummed the same chord a few times; you were still working out a few of the kinks, including the strum pattern. You had a vision with anything you wrote, but it took a while to ultimately manifest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I regret nothing, it was an honor,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you sang softly, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>more defined myself to call you my daughter. You mean the world to me, and I’d do it all again for you, </span>
  </em>
  <a class="editor-rtfLink" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVbk1XoHIoo">
    <em>
      <span>my pearl</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s beautiful, Y/N,” Shawn complemented. His voice was soft, kind, lacking its usual lightheartedness. You could tell he meant it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” you replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s dead, isn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You snorted. “Wow, you know how to sugarcoat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Shawn laughed nervously, “just… there didn’t seem like a good way to say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think there is,” you agreed. Then, as though you were stating a simple fact, you said, “yeah, she’s dead. She died when I was 5. Evan’s been taking care of me since then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your dad?” Shawn asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve learned enough about me for one night, Hunter.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you reading, ‘Panga?” You asked, shoveling a few more fries into your mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Couples Magazine,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She admitted sheepishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You and Shawn, who were sitting next to each other, shared a look. Meanwhile, Cory leaned over his girlfriend’s shoulder with a curious look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?! It’s fun,” Topanga defended herself. “Like this quiz, “How to know if you’ve found your soulmate’? It’s scarily accurate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let’s hear it,” you ceded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘“Do you and your partner finish each other’s’ -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sentences? All the time,” Cory and Shawn said in unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘On a scale of one to ten, how connected do you feel to your partner?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten,” they said again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘What do you and your partner know about each other’s pasts?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Topanga threw the magazine onto the table. She looked at Cory. “You know, it sounds like you and Shawn are soulmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because they are,” you said simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone went quiet. You looked up, a french fry hanging out of your mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cory and Topanga are soulmates,” Shawn said with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re twin flames and the love of each other’s lives,” you corrected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t,” you disagreed, chuckling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what’s the difference?” Cory pressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twin flames are people with the same soul, split into different bodies,” you explained. “Soulmates are two people — two souls — that share an unbreakable bond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really believe in all that crap?” Shawn asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When something good happens, who’s the first person you tell?” you asked instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cory,” Shawn answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And when something bad happens, who’s the person you run to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Cory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s the only person in the world that you can trust with absolutely anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn stared at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Shawnie, look at us! We’re soulmates,” Cory beamed, reaching over to shove his friend’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Topanga,” you laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My whole life,” She replied.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Friday night. Any big ideas? Anyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You approached your locker with a smile. It seemed like the longer Cory and Topanga were going steady, the more the latter overcompensated by making sure you and Shawn were still appreciated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you and the wife skipping date night this week?” Shawn remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Topanga wants the four of us to go out as friends,” Cory retorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, 3rd and 4th wheeling,” you said, opening your locker. “Sounds fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Wife” turned the corner, wrapping her free arm around Cory. They smiled at each other. You pretended to gag, but on the inside, you were smiling too. There was something so sweet about their relationship (not that you’d ever say it to their faces), and it was nice to see your friends happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there’s a band playing at Chubbie’s tonight. Rumor has it some of the members go to our school,” Topanga said. “Shawn, Y/N, you want to come? The show starts at 7.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your friends who knew nothing about you. Not that it was their fault, of course. You told them everything they needed to know, and some things, well… they didn’t need to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sounds fun,” you shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like they suck,” Shawn retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chubbie’s? Really? That place doesn’t even have a stage,” Shawn explained. “How much are tickets, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“$5,” Topanga answered. “If I pay, will you come?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a better idea,” you said, closing your locker and leaning against it. “Hunter, I’ll pay for your ticket. If you hate the band, you don’t have to pay me back, but if you like them, you have to buy both of our tickets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re on,” he said, offering you a hand to shake. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘On The Road’ by Jack Kerouac… anyone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan Turner: the man with the unfortunate task of teaching English to a bunch of angry, hormonal teenagers. As much as you loved Shawn and Cory, you had to admit, teaching them sounded like a job from hell. Thankfully, though, Turner and Shawn seemed to get along well enough as roommates… guardian/orphan… whatever the hell they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You raised your hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a book that Kerouac wrote about the road trip across the US he and his friends took,” you answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” Turner questioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the teacher,” Cory stated. “Shouldn’t you know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turner gave him a look. Not just any look — that specific look he saved for only the dynamic duo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You raised your hand again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turner raised his eyebrows, and you were pretty sure you weren’t the cause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hunter,” Turner said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked to your right (no matter the class, you sat to Shawn’s left), and sure enough, he raised his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘On the Road’s influence doesn’t come from the actual content of the book, but from what it symbolizes,” he explained. “Kerouac lived in a postwar society — he felt lost. His book touched on everything that everyone was afraid of: drugs, sex, an unknown future… you name it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Restless little spirit, huh?” Turner remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about other places,” you said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...sometimes,” Shawn agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your favorite example of symbolism?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The band </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost in Translation</span>
  </em>
  <span>, particularly their song ‘Camouflage’,” Nicki answered without being called on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost in Translation… </span>
  </em>
  <span>Isn’t that…?” Turner began asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You raised a finger to your lips with a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Continue, Nicki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lead singer compares social pacifism to ‘communion’, a right of passage in the Catholic church. But in the next line, she says, ‘I wear camouflage to blend in’ like she only stays quiet so she doesn’t stand out in a crowd,” Nicki said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at you the entire time she explained. You tapped your pencil against your desk with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how I see it at all,” Topanga disagreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, what do you think, Topanga?” Turner encouraged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, to me, the writer is talking about alcoholism. She says that the ‘profane communion’ is ‘sour, but I think I like it’. Wine is sour but, to some people, easy to like. She likes the taste, but she drinks to blend in with a crowd.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if she doesn’t mean anything?” Turner suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is that even possible?” Topanga asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if the symbolism isn’t symbolizing anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” Cory exclaimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been lost since the first day of Freshman year, Matthews,” Turner countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re saying that maybe the writer wasn’t trying to symbolize anything — she merely left it open to the reader’s interpretation. She let the words symbolize themselves,” you clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s possible,” Turner agreed. He stared right at you. “If that’s the case, it means she’s a fantastic writer.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N, you are definitely gonna owe me 10 bucks tonight,” Shawn said as the four of you left English class. “This band sucks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you say that?” Topanga asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost in Translation? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Really? It doesn’t get more emo than that,” Shawn pointed out. “Also, Nicki likes them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…?” you said, awaiting further explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s the school stoner,” Shawn stated bluntly. “The music she listens to is probably for melodramatic teenagers who live in big houses with well-off parents but complain about how much their lives suck. No thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you had such… </span>
  <em>
    <span>high </span>
  </em>
  <span>opinions of me, Shawn,” Nicki said with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! I forgot to mention: Nicki is standing right behind me,” you told Shawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the heads up, jackass,” Shawn retorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You flipped him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you tonight,” Nicki told you with a wink before walking off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh-la-la,” Cory remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You rolled your eyes as you opened your locker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What am I missing?” Shawn asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicki isn’t just the school stoner — she’s kind of the school lesbian,” Topanga informed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The few times your friends discussed sexuality — especially the not-straight ones — you got nervous. Not because you had anything to hide (... well, not exactly). Mostly, you were afraid your viewpoints wouldn’t line up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cory and Topanga lived perfect lives compared to people like you and Shawn; they didn’t have to worry about when (or if) their dads would be home, they didn’t have to hold their pillows over their ears to block out the screaming. They didn’t have to wonder where their next meal was coming from. They didn’t have it hard, or at least not harder than anyone else. They were allowed to care about things that didn’t matter, like whether or not someone was straight. People like you and Shawn didn’t have that luxury: you just lived your lives and let everyone else live theirs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Shawn said passively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems like she has a crush on you,” Topanga continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got that from a wink?” You deadpanned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else could it mean?” She laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People wink at other people when they both know a secret no one else knows,” you said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What don’t we know?” Cory asked almost excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could do much worse than Nicki,” you said simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” Cory pressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you guys at Chubbie’s?” You asked after closing your locker. You didn’t stick around for a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...but what does that mean?!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s 7 o’clock: she isn’t coming,” Cory said after checking his watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t understand why,” Topanga said, pouting. “She made a bet with you, and she gave you money for the tickets… why would she ditch us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had better plans?” Shawn suggested. “She spends most of her Fridays playing guitar. It’s probably more fun to actually play it instead of listening to someone play it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Y/N plays guitar?” Topanga asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N likes music?” Cory said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shawn said, giving them a look. “You guys didn’t know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both shook their heads slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Y/N didn’t tell people more than they needed to know, and Shawn had no reason to bring it up. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made that they didn’t know. Shawn only knew because he skipped curfew one night when he was still living with the Matthews’; Cory and Topanga hadn’t even stepped foot in her trailer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weird,” Shawn said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hellooooooo!” Someone shouted from the stage. “This thing on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights dimmed, and all attention shifted to the back of the restaurant. There were a few mics and a drum set on a wooden foldable stage, one the band brought. Still, it was par for the course: it was painted entirely black with a few white symbols that looked like street art. It wasn’t very high, tapping out at maybe 2 and a half feet tall, but it was enough to elevate the band above the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that Nicki?” Topanga observed, brows furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi! Thanks for coming out tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicki was met with applause and various whoops and hollers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...uh, I don’t really have much else to say. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lost in Translation!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicki hopped off the stage and into the front of the crowd. A stage light flicked on, showing the guitarist as she strummed the opening notes. Another light flicked on, displaying the percussionist. Finally, the center light turned on, illuminating the lead singer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve got boulders on my shoulders, collarbones begin to crack, there is very little left of me and it’s never coming back,</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>you sang the opening line, the same way you‘ve sung it hundreds of times. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>There are certain things you ask of me, and there are certain things I lack. In the beginning, we were winning, but now I’m just making up facts.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is… That’s Y/N!” Shawn shouted over the music in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said she spends her Fridays playing and singing guitar!” Cory shouted back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s amazing!” Topanga screamed, beaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>We keep playing with the numbers, we are running out of time, we are running, we are running, but you’re a killer</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You found Shawn in the crowd. You smiled. He smiled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>...And I’m your best friend. Think it’s unfair, your situation. You say I’m changing</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” you sang, and began dancing around wildly to the music, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, I didn’t know I had to stay the same. Can we talk about this later? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhcAJC_3heA">Your voice is driving me, driving me insane!</a></span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song wasn’t exactly lighthearted, but you couldn’t help but smile the entire time you sang it. You discovered your love for performing early last year, and no matter how many times you sang in front of a crowd, it still gave you a high. Tonight, though… Tonight was even more special. Tonight, your friends were here. They were listening. They were watching. And you were having the time of your life. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you never told us!” Topanga exclaimed as she hugged you tightly. “I mean, I’ve been listening to your cassette tape the entire week! I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just something I do on the weekends,” you said smugly, hugging her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Topanga corrected. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>are incredible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank, you ‘Panga.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She broke out into a huge smile. “I’m friends with a freakin’ rockstar!” she squealed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still trying to comprehend what just happened,” Cory said, frowning. He rubbed a temple. “It feels like my head just exploded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Shawn?” you asked, almost hesitant. “What d'ya think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was stupid, to feel so nervous. It didn’t even matter what he thought, not really. Now that it was out in the open, he’d be coming to your shows with Cory and Topanga, no matter what he thought of your actual music. Still, he spent the entire day actively hating it without even listening to it, which you had to admit, kind of hurt. He obviously didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was your band, and you mostly found his ignorance amusing, but that didn’t mean you loved his unfounded criticism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn looked at you, up and down, almost sizing you up in a weird way. Then, he reached into his pocket and offered you a ten-dollar bill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I loved it.”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smiled, accepting the money. Typically, you’d refuse, but this time, it wasn’t about the money: it was about the symbolism (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks, Turner</span>
  </em>
  <span>). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Alex, our drummer, is having an afterparty at his place,” you mentioned. “Do you guys want to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds fun,” Topanga said. Cory nodded in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in,” Shawn said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Well, I promised to help clean up here, so I’ll meet you guys there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can help,” Cory offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s alright,” you waved a hand of dismissal. “We just have to collapse the stage and put the tables back where they belong — it’ll only take 10 minutes. Besides, I’m pretty sure Chubbie is itching to get everyone out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s ‘we’?” Shawn inquired, looking around. “We’re the only people here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A waitress is gonna help me,” you explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex’s house is on Tradd Street, right?” Topanga asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three blocks down, house number 342. You can’t miss it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As your friends climbed the stairs, you immediately got to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You looked super hot up there,” someone behind you noted.”Hotter than usual, I should say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smirked, turning around to see exactly who you expected to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re starting to catch on, Nik,” you remarked. “Pretty soon, they’ll figure us out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let them,” Nicki hummed, wrapping her arms around your waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t help yourself: you rested one hand on her back, the other on her neck, and kissed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You heard something fall and clatter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit! Sorry, uh…” Shawn stumbled, both physically and verbally. He was on the floor, picking up the contents of a spilled bag. “Topanga forgot her purse, I came back for it. Sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After shoving everything back into the purse, Shawn bolted up the stairs. Without even thinking, you did the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t tell them,” you said, only a few steps behind his quick pace. “Please, don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Them’?” Shawn repeated, stopping dead in his tracks. “You mean Cory and Topanga?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” you said, out of breath from both the physical exertion and the shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not afraid of what I think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, I know you,” you said slowly like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think they would?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sighed in exasperation, trying to think of the right way to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re kids from big houses who have well-off parents,” you quoted Shawn. “They don’t act like it, but that’s what they are. They get to care about stupid shit that doesn’t matter. People like you and me, we don’t. They wouldn’t get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get what, that you’re gay?” Shawn said. “Y/N, I think they could figure it out if you gave them a chance. I mean, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>figure it eventually, with or without my help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gay,” you said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, they’ll understand that you like a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took a seat on the curb. You only started talking when Shawn did the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that two-week rule of yours? The one where you swear to only date someone for 2 weeks, and after that, you’re done? No hard feelings, a clean break?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn nodded. “What about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for the record, I still think it’s incredibly sexist and demeaning,” you assured with a chuckle, “but… that’s kind of where Nicki and I are at.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn stayed quiet, awaiting further explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m bisexual — I like girls, I like boys,” you explained. “Nicky is a lesbian. When nobody is around, we hug, we kiss, and we… do a little bit more. But we’re not a couple. We’re not in love. We’re just… having fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s your two weeks,” Shawn summarized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...More like my 8 months, but yeah,” you ceded. “When we’re alone together, we kiss. When we’re not alone, I kiss boys, and she kisses other girls. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Cory and Topanga will never understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But they understand my two weeks policy,” Shawn reminded you. “Topanga still disagrees with it, just like you do, but she understands it. Why wouldn’t they understand this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for starters, you’re a straight guy with daddy issues,” you said. “You have a pass. They’d understand that I’m bi, but they’ll never understand that people like you and me… don’t get permanent things. Whether it’s our fault or not, it doesn’t really matter; affection that lasts isn’t something we understand. It doesn’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you and me. So, we accept it the only way we know how: in pieces. They’ll never know what that feels like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, slowly, Shawn took your hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna tell them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn looked down, then back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of boys do you kiss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You scoffed. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said when you’re not with Nicki, you kiss boys,” Shawn recalled. “What kind of boys do you kiss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jocks, mostly,” you said with a faint smirk. “Making out with the alternative girl under the bleachers is a kink for them, I swear to god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why no one on the football team makes fun of you!” Shawn realized with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You joined in his laughter, but just like everything else, it eventually stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you don’t kiss boys like me?” Shawn pressed. “Boys who get it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your stomach did a backflip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not normally, no,” you answered, once again sounding breathless. This time, it wasn’t from the running. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there you are!” Cory said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of you snapped to attention. Shawn laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You caught me!” Shawn replied, offering Topanga her purse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N, you finished up?” She asked kindly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh, yeah, we’re good to go,” you lied right through your teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You and Shawn walked side by side, a few steps behind Cory and Topanga. Over the years, you’d gotten used to the formation; it became more of a routine than a coincidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You felt Shawn’s hand brush against yours. Again, this was pretty normal. You subtly moved over, giving the two of you about an inch of space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You felt his hand again, on the upswing and the downswing. Finally, you felt his pinkie curls around yours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pieces,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pieces,” you agreed quietly.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <b><br/>
<span class="small">This story is part of the <a href="https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject">LLF Comment Project</a>, </span><br/>
<span class="small">which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:<br/>
</span><br/>
</b>
</p>
<ul>

<li><span class="small">Short comments</span></li>
<li><span class="small">Long comments</span></li>
<li><span class="small">Questions</span></li>
<li><span class="small">Constructive criticism</span></li>
<li><span class="small">“&lt;3” as extra kudos</span></li>
<li><span class="small">Reader-reader interaction</span></li>

</ul><p>
  <b><br/>
<span class="small"><b>This Author replies to comments.</b><i> If you don't want a reply, for whatever reason, sign your comment as *whisper*. </i>I won't respond or interact with the comment, but I <b><i>will read and appreciate it!</i></b></span><br/>
</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Songs (in order of lyrical appearance):</p><p>Be Nice to Me - The Front Bottoms <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhcAJC_3heA">x</a><br/>
Pearl - Sobi <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVbk1XoHIoo">x</a><br/>
Camouflage - The Front Bottoms <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NviY9PTfKxk">x</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Devil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter are in the tags.</p><p>Title Song: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hNR50-Trv-k">x</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Cory owes me for the rest of his life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Chick Like Me </span>
  </em>
  <span>was one of Shawn’s better ideas, but only because it didn’t affect him. That is, until the 4 of you realized that Cory looks like a cartoon character in drag. Shawn possessed the… grace it took to be — or at least act — like a woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent the night at your trailer because, in the morning, you’d have to help him get ready. Topanga and Cory obviously offered to help, but there was no easy way to work out the details; it was just easier to keep everything at your house. Not to mention, it wouldn’t be fun for Shawn to explain everything to his half-brother, Jack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do girls really have to wake up this early to get ready?” He asked as you applied some eyeshadow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, we need time to put on our pantyhose, our 5 pounds of makeup, and our hair,” you joked. “You’d have to ask Topanga what she does; I only wear mascara, and that’s on a good day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why do you wake up so early?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hear an alarm clock this morning, but I heard you moving around. Same as when I slept over here last year,” Shawn noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You promise not to laugh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Shawn said, already with a little huff of laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t sleep that well when Evan isn’t here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sighed, moving on to Shawn’s eyebrows. “It’s stupid, I know. I’m 17, almost 18. I shouldn’t need a knight in shining armor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get much sleep when my dad is out of town,” Shawn said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” you whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took almost an hour and a half, but by 7:15. Shawn was ready for school. The only problem was… he couldn’t stop staring at himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like I’m a different person,” Shawn said, turning to his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had to admit: you did a good job. The bra that held silicone inserts and was stuffed with tissue looked pretty convincing, as did his freshly shaved legs. The makeup was maybe a little much, but a lot of it was hidden by the mid-length wig he was wearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably come up with a name,” you suggested. “Calling you ‘Shawn’ would kind of ruin the illusion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn did another little twirl in the mirror, looking himself up and down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Veronica,” he decided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nodded in approval. “Nice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re bisexual,” Shawn said, finally turning around to look at you. “Is this something you like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...That is so wrong and offensive for so many different reasons,” you said plainly, “but I will say this: you’re pretty hot as a girl.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘As a girl’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said what I said,” you smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn turned around again, giving himself another once-over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>You and Topanga sat at a 2-chair table, watching Shawn go out with some jerk named Gary from the sidelines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You heard the corral door from the kitchen swing open and looked up in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” you said, stifling a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Topanga asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have to wait for an explanation: Cory, dressed in an ugly waitress dress, a curly wig, and some makeup walked past your table and right to the booth Shawn was at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is absolutely insane,” Topanga said, jaw dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he’s all yours,” you reminded sweetly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little while later, before Cory could even come back with their food, Shawn attempted to storm off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what’s going on?” you asked, holding him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He touched my knee. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>knee,” Shawn said in disbelief. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>knee, what makes him think that it’s his to touch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you sent him a signal,” Topanga suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only signal I sent him was ‘stop’,” Shawn disagreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he didn’t listen,” you confirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not like that,” Shawn said. Evidently, Topanga gave him a look, because he then said, “I’m not. I never will be again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, here he comes,” Cory said in a low voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no no no, I quit,” Shawn protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t quit, we have an article to finish!” Cory hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew I should have worn a pantsuit,” Shawn thought aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m sorry I got so… aggressive,” Gary apologized to ‘Veronica’. “No one respects women more than me! ...You forgive me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course she does,” ‘Cora’ answered for her, “you two are just adorable together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about I teach you foosball?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn adjusted his posture, putting on a smile. “How about I teach you?” He said, then sauntered off to the back room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Subtly, you made your way back there, dragging Topanga with you. Without explaining, you got on one side of the other table, and she got on the other. You had your back turned to Shawn and Gary, listening to everything that happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gary tried to teach ‘Veronica’ how to block, ‘Veronica’ pushed him away. Gary made a remark about the dress ‘Veronica’ was wearing, she said she just wanted to look nice. Gary said she did, and evidently, touched ‘Veronica’ again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, don’t like to be touched,” Gary stated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did it ever occur to you that I might be a nice girl?” She countered, frustrated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, what I thought was that you’d be into guys,” Gary said, “but I guess you’re not. I guess you prefer girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As a matter of fact, I do,” Veronica challenged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, as a matter of fact...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. Before you could even react, before you could even begin to comprehend it, Shawn was kissing you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt… different. A lot different than Nicki, obviously, but it even felt different from kissing boys at school. It felt good physically, just like it always did, but there was something… different about it. It was as though something was below the water, waiting to surface. You couldn’t tell if it was driftwood or the Loch Ness Monster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You kept kissing him, kissing him until you couldn’t breathe. You kept a hand on his neck, just like you did with Nicki, but you could feel some faint stubble under your thumb as it traced his jaw. Different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn pulled away first. Out of all the girls you’ve seen him kiss, you never once saw him pull away first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I do,” Shawn finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t looking at Gary — he was looking at you.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I found the bag,” Angela said, dumping the contents on the table in front of you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice!” you replied. “I’m so sorry I lost it — I’ve never done that before. And hey, thanks for letting me borrow it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You swiped your various items, including a book of sonnets, a cassette tape, and your lip gloss (along with the usual junk you didn’t throw out, like movie ticket stubs), into your newly repaired backpack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’ve had the same backpack since middle school, but of course, a strap decided to break about halfway through your Senior year. It was a nice leather backpack Evan saved up for, and you didn’t have the heart to just replace it, so you waited a few days while for a leatherworker to repair it. It probably would have been cheaper to just buy a new one, but some things were more important than money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! But you owe me a concert,” she said with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You still weren’t entirely sure how the two of you ended up friends, but you definitely weren’t opposed. Angela transferred to John Adams High in her Junior year; she stuck out like a sore thumb. You, after all these years, still stuck out, but in different ways. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> different, however, that the two of you couldn’t relate. That’s how the two of you became friends — not through what you had in common, but what you didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am,” you saluted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She gave you a wave before walking off to her next classroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Topanga said you haven’t applied to college.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You jumped, but you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Hunter! You scared the shit out of me,” you scolded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Topanga said you haven’t applied to college,” Shawn repeated like you didn’t hear every word he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t,” you confirmed, sorting through your books. “Not yet, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know if you will?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is 8:15 in the morning,” you said, staring at your friend. “Can we talk about this later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure! How about when you’re a freshman in college?” Shawn asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it matter to you, anyway?” you grumbled. He caught you in a really bad mood, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, the second I graduate, the 4 of us becomes the 3 of you. Whether or not I go to college doesn’t mean shit to any of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you even talking about?” Shawn looked at you, a mix of emotions written all over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bell rang, and everyone scattered into their classrooms. Everyone except you and Shawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, we spoke maybe 3 times the last few months,” you said. “You kissed me, now you have a girlfriend, apparently, and we’re hardly even friends. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what I’m talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a rough Winter for everyone. Rough for Cory and Topanga, who could hang out with both of you at the same time for no apparent reason. Rough for you and Shawn for not being able to explain why. Rough for you for, well, several reasons. But apparently, Winter was treating Shawn alright — he found a girlfriend. Angela.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, you weren’t exactly thrilled about that. You were happy that he was happy, obviously, but you couldn’t help noticing the absolute shit timing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t kiss you: Veronica did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the best you can come up with?” you challenged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Y/N: I know you. Sometimes, you just need a little nudge in the right direction, If I don’t push you. No one will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about that sentence made you see red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about me,” you said. On the outside, you were calm, but on the inside, you were burning. “You’re not my father, and you’re definitely not my boyfriend. So do me a favor, and stay the hell away from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stormed off and out the front door.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Lost in Translation had a gig at an ‘Under 21 Club’ on the other side of Philly. It wasn’t your normal scene, but it was in a decently wealthy neighborhood and an easy $750, not including merch and cassette sales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a song you wrote a awhile ago that you had yet to perform on stage; you thought it would be left on the album, something only dedicated fans would know about. It was angry, lyrics that were written in a fit of rage, that were less than artistic. The other composition was amazing as always, but it definitely wasn’t your proudest work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck it. It was an angry song, and you were angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I have this dream that I am hitting my dad with a baseball bat and he is screaming and crying for help,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you sang, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>and maybe halfway through, it has more to do with me killing him than it ever did protecting myself. And I believe that, yeah dad, maybe no one is perfect, but I believe that you were pushing your luck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>You managed to find Shawn in the crowd — way in the back, off to the right. He was alone; Cory and Topanga probably didn’t even know you were performing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You were high school, and I was just more like real life,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you continued, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>and you were okay as a girlfriend, but I was just more like his wife. But it is okay, I’ll wear the makeup, I’ll do whatever he wants all night. ‘Cuz you were okay as a girlfriend, but I was just more like real life.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were sitting in the green room, chugging a bottle of water. The room was small, and the couch was dingy, but hey, at least you had somewhere to put all of your stuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t matter,” you shrugged. “It was long over with by the time I met you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two years: started when I was 5, stopped when I was 7.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What changed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told Evan, and he nearly killed him,” you said, smiling softly with a sense of pride. “That’s the last time I saw my dad, laying in a pool of his own blood, Evan punching the crap out of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God,” Shawn shook his head. “Did you ever tell anyone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t have to — I wrote a song about it,” you replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn took a seat next to you. An uncomfortable silence followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to be your boyfriend, Y/N,” Shawn said quietly. “I just worry about you, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” you said softly. “I’ m sorry I freaked out on you earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another bought of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember that day we were sitting in Chubbie’s, and Topanga was reading some crappy magazine, and you said Cory and I are soulmates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> You nodded, drinking some more water. “What about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were right about one thing: I’m Cory’s soulmate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was I wrong about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure you’re mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not,” you said almost instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you, Y/N, better than anyone,” Shawn protested. “I know your mom died when you were 5, that your dad took advantage of the situation. I know you’re bi and that you’re not ashamed of it. I know you can’t sleep when your brother isn’t home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know that he moved out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Since when?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since March.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you started the band,” Shawn said, the pieces connecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sends me money, but it isn’t enough for everything. Gigs like this help fill in the gaps,” you explained, finishing your water. “Shawn, let’s face it: you only know the things I want you to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t Cory and Topanga know those things, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t come up with an answer to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like Angela. I like her a lot. I think I could love her, eventually. But when something good happens, I want to tell you. When I have a problem, I come to you. I don’t think that’s ever gonna change. I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it to change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you kiss me, Shawn?” You asked, so faintly it was almost inaudible</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you see the look on his face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the only reason? You kissed me for shock value, that’s it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren’t angry anymore, just blunt. That kiss was the only thing you’ve thought about since it happened. It felt like… something, something you couldn’t put your finger on. At least, that’s how you remembered it. You never asked Shawn what he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s it,” Shawn said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” you replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N, I can deal with you being pissed at me, but I can’t live with you barely being my friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wrapped an arm around his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pieces,” you said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pieces,” he agreed, leaning into your touch.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>You ended up taking a gap year after graduation. You spent most of your time writing and performing new music; by the end of the year, Lost in Translation was a household name in the city of Philadelphia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You got a full ride to Pennbrook. It was the kind of scholarship you had to ‘pay back’ by volunteering at an inner-city music program, but it was a full ride. In your mind, you got off incredibly easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gap year was… weird. A lot was going on in your life, and a lot was happening for your friends, too, but it was all so different. They were still in high school, but you were an adult attempting to make a living. You were having fun, but a part of you couldn’t wait until the 4 of you were living together in the dorms and everything went back to normal. Well.. as normal as possible. In your defense, the first half of the year was mostly smooth sailing. The second half, well...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chet Hunter was back in town. For what reason this time, you didn’t know. All you knew is that Shawn didn’t believe a word of what he was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s getting Jack’s hopes up,” Shawn said, pacing around your room. “It isn’t fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By some miracle, you, Topanga, Angela, and one of your bandmates managed to snag the only 4-person dorm in the entire building. This meant you each had your own bedrooms. In some ways, it was like you never left the trailer park — instead of writing on a coach, you wrote on your bed. Oh, and Shawn still regularly invited himself over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he needs to learn the hard way,” you shrugged. “Jack’s a junior in college: he can handle the disappointment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t understand why he always says he’s staying,” Shawn continued. “I like seeing him, don’t get me wrong, but he’s so full of shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, when my dad was… doing what he did, I always told myself  “one of these days. I’m gonna tell my brother. I’ll tell him, and everything will be okay.’ I practiced in the mirror sometimes, rehearsed the conversation in the shower. It took me a while, but I got there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that have to do with my dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he always says he’s gonna stay because he’s waiting for the day he actually does,” you said. “I think he’s saying it so that one day, he actually believes it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn took a seat on the small armchair you kept in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants to have dinner tomorrow night,” Shawn said. “Can you come with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, tell me again why you aren’t dating this fine young woman?” Chet asked as he opened the door to the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends,” Shawn said for what was probably the tenth time that night, taking a seat on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for letting me come to dinner tonight, Mr. Hunter,” you said as he grabbed a soda from the fridge. Meanwhile, you took a seat next to Shawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, little lady,” Chet replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel came bouncing down the stairs, and the center of attention shifted from her to you. You were grateful for the break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing?” you asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been okay. ...right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Shawn said, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how about I get a photo of Father and sons for my scrapbook?” Rachel suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever your pretty little redhead desires,” Chet replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Rachel got her camera, you gently pushed Shawn’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay everybody, get together, come on,” Rachel said, ushering the boys closer. “Oh, smile, Shawn: it’s your dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, get one of my son and future daughter-in-law,” Chet said, pointing back to you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smiled, standing up next to Shawn. You wrapped an arm around him, he did the same. You leaned your head towards him, and he rested his cheek on top of your hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera flashed, you could hear it whirring as the film developed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, lemme get one of you and Jack,” Chet said as he grabbed the camera from Rachel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric chose a great time to walk in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said, breaking Jack and Rachel up as soon as the picture was taken. “How are you doing, Chet? When are you leaving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t; he’s staying,” Jack replied for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel spoke a few words of approval which were quickly cut off by Shawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, can I just clear something up? The man’s not staying. He never has, he never will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been busting my chops ever since I got here,” Chet lectured. “What is your problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have any problems, Dad. What makes you think I would have any problems?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how about cake?” Rachel interjected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hungry,” Shawn said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on it’s my famous double chocolate whipped cream cake, it’s delicious,” Rachel said, already pulling it out of the fridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love some,” Chet said, looking right at (one of) his sons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of cutting the cake, the landline rang. Eric picked up the phone, but it was for Chet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A friend of his had a job offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, when are you leaving?” Shawn asked the second he hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shows how much you know,” Chet said. “I was just offered the best job I’d ever had, dealing blackjack in Vegas. But you didn’t hear me say I was gonna take it, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hear you turn it down,” Shawn countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna turn it down! I’m just… keeping my options open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is so like you. You always do this — over, and over, and over again. You come into town, you make all these promises, and just when I think we’re actually gonna get close, you take off again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn paused, realization dawning. “Oh my god, I’m you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m talking about the fact that I can’t keep a relationship, I drive all my friends away, I hurt everybody I care about!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, take it easy, alright?” Jack said, physically stepping in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This doesn’t concern you,” Shawn brushed him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my father too, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m gonna have some cake!” Chet said with an awkward laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone was quiet, and Shawn was still staring at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay!” Chet yelled. “I’ll call Tommy and tell him I’m not taking the damn job. You happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chet kept shouting, but this time, he was grabbing his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad?” Jack asked, reaching his arm out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, what’s going on?” Shawn asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eric, call an ambulance,” you instructed before helping the boys get Chet on the couch.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“My hand’s about to fall off from all that paperwork,” Jack remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sat in the waiting room, watching the two brothers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad’s in there with a heart attack, and you’re out here complaining about forums?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t going to treat him unless someone filled them out,” Jack explained slowly. “Man, you’ve been really out of it since the ambulance ride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, maybe you’re not going through what I am,” Shawn said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” you said, deciding it was time to step in. “Jack, why don’t you go get us all some coffee?” you asked, digging a five-dollar bill out of your pocket. “Chet’s gonna be asleep for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Jack nodded and accepted the money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took Shawn’s arm, leading him to the waiting room seats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know this is scary, and I know you’re upset,” you said softly, still holding his arm, “but taking it out on Jack won’t help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He could have died, Y/N,” Shawn said quietly. “I should be in there, throwing my arms around him, telling him how much I love him. But I’m still so angry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a lot to say to him,” you acknowledged. “You’ll get the chance. I promise.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Visitors filtered in and out. Shawn talked to Chet when he woke up, but only briefly. After that, he slept on your shoulder in the waiting room until Cory, Topanga, and Angela arrived. </span>
</p><p>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn got the chance to tell Chet everything he needed to say, just in time for him to be rushed into surgery. Everyone was waiting, barely even breathing. Shawn paced relentlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he took a seat next to you on the coffee table. Without saying anything, he took your hand. Without skipping a beat, you squeezed his hand and ran your free hand up and down his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you gonna open your present?” Shawn asked his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack began tearing into the wrapping. You looked up to see the surgeon turn the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on his face was telltale.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone was standing in your doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You grabbed the baseball bat you kept next to your bed before flipping on the lightswitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s just you,” you said, relaxing. “You scared me, Hunter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sleep with a bat next to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were trailer trash once: you get it,” you shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The adrenaline of a possible intruder faded fast. You looked at your alarm clock, 1:13AM. You yawned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you been up to, Shawn?” you asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took off from the hospital a few minutes after the news, and no one has been able to get a hold of him since. You all assumed the same thing — he’d come back whenever he was ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walking. I think I was in the city at some point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pennbrook was in the suburbs, which was a short drive to Philly, but it was no easy walk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just, uh…” He stammered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were tired, but you caught on quickly. You set down your bat and pulled back your covers before patting the space beside you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed with you. He pressed his back against your chest, curling into your touch. You reached up to flick off the lamp before resting your arm on his side and your hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pieces,” you promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pieces.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” you said, inviting yourself into Shawn and Cory’s dorm room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Shawn said, adding another can to his tower of cans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cory says you haven’t left the dorm in a few days,” you said. “Jack’s been leaving messages.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Shawn said simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants to clean out the trailer,” you continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does he need me for? It’s all trash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was your home, Shawn,” you said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” he said, flopping onto his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You set your hand on the doorknob, then let it fall back to your side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When my mom died, I destroyed my own bedroom,” you said, taking a seat on the bed. “I broke picture frames, I smashed my lamp, I think I even ripped up a few pillows. I let everything stew inside of me for so long that eventually, I exploded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, one of these days, it’s gonna hit you,” you said, looking back at him. “Everything you’re feeling, everything you’re pushing away… it’s gonna knock you flat on your back. It’s gonna be bad, like, catastrophically awful. And it’s gonna hurt like hell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...So?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, when it does, just know that we’re here for you, okay? Cory, Topanga, Jack, even Angela. We’re all here for you when it hits you.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a Wednesday night, you just got back from taking a shower. You mostly dried your hair, but it hung loosely, still damp. Occasionally, a drop of water collected and fell. You slipped into a simple tank top and pair of shorts — you planned on just finishing up a couple songs in the comfort of your room.  Besides, everyone else was out, so it was unusually dead-quiet. You needed something to fill the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock on the door. Weird. Most of your friends either made their presence known by shouting or simply walking in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before you could even cross the lounge, there was more knocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gimme a second!” You called, jogging to catch up. You assumed it was either a floormate or an RA.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You opened the door, surprised by what you saw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You knocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t sure you were home,” he said, voice unusually gravelly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay… what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could get a word out, a sob wracked his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Shawn,” you said quietly, pulling him into a tight hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never gonna see him again,” he cried into your shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” you said, running a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to New York was one of the easiest decisions you ever made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>New York was huge for the music scene, and you already had years of experience to back you up. It was easy to find a job working at a recording company, and when the shop closed for the evening, you got to record your own music. The band didn’t come with you, so it was a fresh start. You got to call all the shots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cory and Topanga obviously got their own place, and Shawn and Eric became roommates for the second time in their lives. Meanwhile, you found a studio apartment down the street, Shawn suggested trying to find a three-bedroom apartment, but you knew it would be next to impossible. Besides, you were used to living on your own — you’d be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You finished your Bachelor of Music in Music Technology at NYU, the same place Topanga got her degree in Economics; Cory and Shawn ended up graduating at St. John’s University in Queens. About a year and a half into the move, Topanga got pregnant. About a year and half into the move, Shawn moved out of the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t blame him: it was an awesome job. A freakin’ amazing job, honestly. He got paid to travel the country, take pictures, and write about whether or not it was somewhere worth going. It was probably everything Shawn had ever wanted, all rolled up into one job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He asked if you wanted to come with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of you really, really wanted to say yes. In fact, you almost did. Without actually thinking about it, you almost blurted out a response. Maybe that was the right one. Maybe. You’d never really know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t go with him for a million little reasons, the biggest one being your own career. You were just starting to make yourself known in the city; apparently, some of Lost in Translation’s music made it to the city, which gave you a jumpstart on the industry. You were only recently able to book solo shows, and if you left, you may never have had that opportunity again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, how the years went by without seeing him. You kept in touch, obviously, through both emails, postcards, and the occasional phone call. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like high school — or even college — when he’d just drop by to talk. However, there was a silver lining: you got a lot closer with Cory and Topanga. You didn’t rely on Shawn for every little issue you had. The 3 of you missed him, but being around each other made you miss him a little bit less. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>You were invited to the Matthews’ family Christmas. Originally, you weren’t planning on going; you loved them all, but you weren’t family, not really. But then, Cory told you that Shawn would be there.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>You ended up helping Topanga out with all the cooking, which meant you spent the night on their couch. You were up bright and early, thanks mostly to the decoration taking place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s the deal with the mysterious Uncle Shawn?” Maya, Riley’s best friend, asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You still couldn’t get over how Riley looked exactly like both of her parents; she had Cory’s face, Topanga’s hair, and a mixture of their attitudes. The more you got to know Maya, the more you realized how much she was like you and Shawn. It made sense that they were best friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see him a lot,” Riley said, stringing some garland. “...I don’t think he likes me. I’m not sure he even knows my birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned as you stirred a massive pot of soup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How often does Shawn visit?” You asked Topanga.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here and there,” she shrugged. “He’s busy with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hit the Road</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh man, he’s still doing that? Good for him,” you smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Topanga stopped what she was doing and looked at you. “When’s the last time </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>saw Shawn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had to really think about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did I have that show in Philly?” You asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“April,” Topanga answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You counted it out on your fingers. “8 months ago, that’s not so bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“April of last year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Almost two years,” you corrected yourself. “God, where does the time go?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Cory’s parents and his brother Josh were the first to show up. Apparently, Shawn decided that fashionably late was the best approach. It made sense, though: Cory was too busy talking to his father to realize his best friend snuck in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you he was real!” Cory shouted at Maya as they hugged. Apparently, the girl had her doubts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn then greeted Alan, Amy, and Josh. Finally, he turned around to see you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Y/N?” He asked in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Hunter,” you said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scooped you up into the tightest hug you ever had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you’d be here!” He said, spinning you around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You squealed, which derailed into a laugh after he set you down. “What, Cory didn’t tell you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You both turned to look at your friend, who was smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well played, Matthews,” you praised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. He grabbed Cory and pulled him tight too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>to catch up on.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Shawn, how’s the job going?” Cory asked as you all sat down to eat dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you do something?” Maya asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shawn laughed. “I write for a site called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hit the Road. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Go to a lot of different places, tell you if it’s worth a weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I go on the site.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Restless little spirit, huh?” Shawn asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about other places?” You asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” Maya confirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You and Shawn shared a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You take the pictures,” Maya continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. How’d you guess that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I draw pictures,” Maya responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s it: Uncle Shawn, when’s my birthday?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn looked at Cory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Riley, he knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You keep saying that… Why can’t he answer? What did I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Shawn took your hand, stood up, and began walking towards the front door. He then turned around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You coming, or what?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“December 8th,” Shawn said as the 4 of you ate some dessert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Riley asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your birthday,” Shawn said. “It’s December 8th.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t save you,” Maya said. “I know her birthday, but I didn’t abandon my friends to hit the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah,” you and Riley said in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that’s fair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then this is fair: what time was she born? How much did she weigh? How tall was she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh oh,” the girls said in unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“6 in the morning -” Shawn started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-7 pounds, 4 ounces -” you continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“21 inches,” Shawn finished. “We were there all night. I was the first one to hold you, after your parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was second,” you raised your hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you remember it so well?” Riley asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the day I left New York City,” Shawn replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, the city wasn’t big enough for the two of you?” Maya pressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When people get married, and they have kids, sometimes their old friends who didn’t keep up start to feel a little out of place,” Shawn explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why did Aunt Y/N stay?” Riley inquired. “She’s not married, she doesn’t have kids. But she stayed, and you didn’t. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked at Shawn, eyebrows raised. You wanted to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have an answer. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but he didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I say something scary?” Riley asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hardly think a 13-year-old girl could scare me,” Shawn countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you look at me, does it remind you of what you don’t have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn looked at Riley, then at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, what is going on between you two?” Maya interjected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, between me and Riley?” Shawn asked, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, between you and Y/N! You keep looking at each other like you have a secret or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always thought you and Angela were gonna end up together, is all,” you told Shawn. “When that didn’t happen, I figured you’d find someone else. I guess that didn’t happen either. I’m a little surprised you’re still in the same place you were when you left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I am too,” Shawn admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s Angela?” Maya asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone that used to be in my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was my friend before she was his girlfriend,” you added. “How did that happen, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shook your head. “We weren’t talking when you two got together the first time, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, I guess we weren’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why weren’t you talking?” Riley inquired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smiled — it all seemed so stupid in hindsight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kissed me, remember?” you teased playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Maya said, suddenly very interested in the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t kiss you: Veronica kissed you,” Shawn said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed loudly. “All these years later, you’re still sticking to that, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s Veronica?” Maya and Riley asked simultaneously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask your father,” you replied dismissively.  “Anyways, you kissed me, and..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kissed you, and I found a purse in the student lounge,” Shawn recalled. “I spent the weekend making up theories, falling in love with the girl who owned it. I eventually made a flyer, and Angela called me back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fell in love with what was inside her purse?” Maya deadpanned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...That sounded a lot more romantic in my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, what was in her purse?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A book of Shakespeare sonnets, a cassette recording of Vivaldi’s ‘4 seasons’, a Van Damme movie ticket stub, and kiwi mango lip gloss,” Shawn recited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Shawn asked, just as confused as you were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...That’s all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>stuff,” you said. “I listened to Vivaldi my entire Senior year. I still have that book of sonnets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it was Angela’s bag,” Shawn replied incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of my backpack straps broke about halfway through my senior year. Angela lent me a bag while it was getting repaired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it was Angela’s bag,” Maya repeated, “but you fell in love with everything inside of it, and everything inside of it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...belonged to Y/N.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” you said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Shawn agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked at each other.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <b><br/>
<span class="small">This story is part of the <a href="https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject">LLF Comment Project</a>, </span><br/>
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  <b><br/>
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</p><p>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Song: Father - The Front Bottoms <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOXJZ9nh9Mw">x</a></p><p>
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</p><p>Until next time.. xx</p>
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